What are you waiting for?
For me to admit that, like you, all I ever wanted was an open-concept floor-plan and a walk-in closet just for shoes I only wear once or twice a year? For a selection of grocers within a five-mile radius from which to choose where to get my daily bread and a comprehensive health plan with a highly-rated HMO? For me to smear coquettish makeup on my face and slap on a cursory smile of tied-together hyphens so when you look at me it’ll be like looking at yourself and you won’t have to be so scared? For a hundred flowers to bloom so you can pluck them for a day’s centerpiece and throw them out the next? For me to fall back into a pillowy existence of first-world security and not drown in the suffering of a screaming planet? Read More
What are you waiting for?
With one more calendar of blogging set free on the quaking stream, rippling on in dichromatic shadow, I must revisit this past year and assure that I’m not just writing what is true, but what is helpful, a trusted refrain. While organizing the bookshelf a few nights ago, I flipped through a journal from the Asia days and found how uninhibited I was in print, beholden to not another soul. I didn’t have a phone or camera for those five months and only got a cheap flip phone when I got back to Chengdu in the spring in order to continue freelancing. How many portraits were drawn with the only teachers being the lines themselves?
After Ezra Pound
Curiosity killed the Catholic
Consumers suck Read More
Din of grungy mahjong slot machines, smoke thick as port-town smog, slurps of Chongqing hot noodle soup
Watery lager, grease stains, and spit riddled the cement floor,
For the right price she could decipher them too —
“Too many eyes on you and this,”
Boss held up her Read More
There’s little that’s less inspiring than school, the place with all the solutions.
Still, street henna artist Sweety asked for nothing more than some milk for baby Pari and to send her four kids to school.
I couldn’t reply for weeks, at odds with institutionalized education and the corresponding state of the world,
its bony-limbed beggars
its middle caste class action mobsters
bursting the belt buckle.
Water and well-anointed oil do not mix;
they never share a meal. Read More
mother by marriage says we’ll go to see Mother Mary but I know you know better
drinking in the sacrament of breath…
…Symposium of spirits concentrate there,
a kiss to sustain the learning world when by day and night
only to meet the gathered light and song and with new refrain go right back IN
TO bodies as
shining epistles altering helices and species Read More
Full of blood,
bubbling, full of life.
Face aglow, I am awed
by the blood vessels
flowing into womb,
thickened veins and
umbilical pulse. I can
feel their swollen contours
as they inflect upwards beneath
the skin. Bulbous breasts plump with
sweet amber, ~~ dripping like blackstrap
molasses. ~~ Soon the ambrosia will pour
forth as the new baby feeds, feeding the
flowering plants, tuberose and jasmine,
clematis and columbine, blossoming
blackberry brambles; ~~ this milky
blancmange enriching the fertile
soil of spring. ~~ Efflorescence Read More
What did you learn in school today, the bored mom asked her teenage son at the dinner table
not looking up from her phone
not noticing quiet tears falling on shuffled peas.
How to multiply polynomials, conjugate in the subjunctive, how violently sudden the last gasp of air comes to the bullet-holed classmate, how it feels to be expendable, grieving, and let down all at once. That was never on the syllabus or the glossy website. Forget being fruitful and multiplying when we don’t even know what X is. Forget wishing and hoping when we shed (others’) blood for the correct version of hypothetical. We are willing to (let someone else) die for what we are (not) willing to sacrifice. Don’t ever tell me to be bold again if this is what it looks like. Read More
Mentality shaky like an ancient mountain on a fault line slipping into the sea and the mountains don’t even speak to me anymore long neglectful of the dust that comprises their mass even when the shadows spill glorious on their umber cliff sides in low winter sun i am laid numb by the trisomy 13 and too premature and still-
births of strangers
sisters Read More
Why is it that no child has ever wished upon a star and in cherubic glow, asked of the universe, Read More